


The Winter Is Cold

by PatrioticFrisbee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha!Genji, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, But they are forground little shits, F/F, Gen, Genji and Zenyatta are background romance, Hanzo is Omega and is actually not looked down upon, Jack and Gabriel are Embarrassing (tm), M/M, More characters to come, Mutt!Jesse, Okami!Hanzo, Pack Dynamics, Updated tags as I go, Who'da Thought!, alpha!Jesse, caste system, omega!hanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:26:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatrioticFrisbee/pseuds/PatrioticFrisbee
Summary: Sojiro Shimada is in desperate needs of a mate for his eldest son and heir, Hanzo. One the Elders will approve of. One he hopes, prays, will be kind. One he begs the ancestors to treat his son well, and perhaps let him find love like Sojiro had been lucky enough to.Hanzo would like his jeans back, please.





	1. Gifted

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd.  
> Another fic. Multi-chapter! Hopefully once a week, if there's interest. IDK brov.

Sojiro Shimada was a formidable man. His presence was heavy, you know he was in the room even if you hadn’t seen him. He was tall, with broad shoulders and long salt and pepper hair tied up into a warrior’s bun. His ears were tall and stiff, and still black despite his age. Sweeping the floor behind him was a long silky jet-Black tail.

  
As a man he was intimidating. As a wolf, he was petrifying.

  
It had come time to find a mate for his heir. And so far he has been less than pleased with the offers of suitors.

Hanzo was special. They had known it as soon as he was born, and he had always been treated as such. He was the first Golden Spirit born to the Shimada family in nearly two centuries. Pale as snow with eyes as dark as charcoals, long hair whiter than nature should allow. His ears stood tall and proud, with much longer hair on them than the usual wolf. 

  
They were pink on the inside.

Genji said it was “cute.”

  
He had two golden Mark’s on his cheeks, right along the bone. If you touched it, it felt rough. Almost like stone—but it never seemed bothered him.

  
Unlike his father, he was dressed in, as his little brother so elegantly put it, “eighty thousand million layers of Kimono gowns like a princess.”

Hanzo loved being pretty, and took great pride in the kohl around his eyes and the styling of his hair. But even this felt...ridiculous.Too much. He could hardly move. His tail, was almost lost among the folds of his gowns.

  
After the latest suitor left, he adjusted on of his bell-like sleeves. His father looked put out and snapped for another suitor to be brought in.

  
“How many more?” Hanzo asks, soft. His father was already irate, wouldn’t do to make it worse.

  
“As many as it takes.”

  
They’ve been looking every day, for two weeks.

 

Hanzo was, in order, tired of:   
His Geta  
Standing in said geta for hours on end  
Every damn layer of fabric he was wearing   
The smell of the same type of incense burning   
His father   
His father’s voice   
The constant buzz of the phone he couldn’t check hidden within the many layers (which most likely meant Genji was probably bombarding him with emojis of the dancing lady in a dress, damn it.)   
The ceremony room   
Their staff   
And basically everything and everyone else. He just wanted to go back to his room and read, or spar with Genji. Or eat dinner. That’d be nice.

  
“This is exhausting,” he huffed and brushed pale hair behind his ear. 

  
“You will have a suitable mate for a Shimada-dono,” Sojiro stated flatly.

  
“Must it be so tedious? I feel like an Edo Princess.” They had websites for stuff like that now. He had a Tindr. And a Grindr. But apparently that wasn't an appropriate 'pool' to choose from.

  
Something in his father changed at his comment, but only a little. He seemed to wilt, and he sighed, a tired crease forming on his brow. Eventually he met his son’s gaze.

  
“You are my son,” Sojiro said gently. “Whom I love more than there are blades of grass. You are precious to me and I...” He looked away. “I want you to have someone as I had your mother. I want you happy, but the Elders will never let you be if you marry sub-par.”

  
Hanzo watched his father for a long moment. He looked, quite suddenly, so much older.

  
The doors opened and drew Hanzo’s attention to what would become the rest of his life.   
  


The man walking in was...enormous. His skin was so dark, his eyes darker. He was a striking figure in a black suit. Briefly Hanzo panicked, until he realized two other men walked in with a third, but the sheer bulk of the man in the suit hid them.

  
“Ah, Akande,” Sojiro actually smiled. He and this man, Akande, bowed to each other. “I had hope you’d come.”

  
“Yes,” the man looked strangely pleased with himself. “One of my best dogs had pupped another talked creature years ago. He is a mutt.”  Sojiro stiffened and almost protested.  “Before you turn me away, I would not bring you a subpar specimen. He is the son of a pure bred golden retriever and a Spanish War Hound. Loyal, gentle, viciously protective. Strong and fast, but easily trained. He has a spark in him, and he does fight some. But he is worth it. Both of his parents are....gifted. And so is he.”

  
Hanzo’s ears perked. Gifted? Perhaps like he, himself was? Even Sojiro looked interested.

  
“...I trust you not to disappoint me,” Sojiro hummed. “Show me the mutt.”   
  


Akande stepped aside and revealed...a young man. Closer to Genji’s age, if Hanzo could guess. His skin was darker, a sweet caramel-tan. His hair was shaggy, and a deep chestnut. He’d been dressed up in a red button down and slacks—simple but elegant enough to show off broad shoulders and strong legs.

  
This man was tall. Over six feet. As Sojiro stepped closer, Hanzo realized he nearly was dwarfed by this mutt.  The dog was handsome, at least.   
  


Sojiro hummed curiously. The young man kept his eyes closed while Sojiro pokes at him. Ran his hand along to long, dark chestnut fur on the young man’s tail. Lifted a hand to inspect his shaggy ears. 

  
“He will need to be refined,” Sojiro said to himself. He then asked the young man to show his teeth and even from the distance, Hanzo could see the size of them. 

“Why do you have your eyes closed, pup?”

  
“His gift,” Akande offered. “He does not miss. Any gun, any bow. Darts, knives. He does not miss what he aims for. Open your eyes, boy.”

The young man did as asked. Hanzo felt the temperature drop ten degrees, and his breath left him in a misty gasp.

 

One eye was a beautiful chocolate brown. Wide, gentle. He had the eyes of a kind man, if one who was clearly afraid.

  
But his  _ right eye _ .

  
Sojiro took a step back himself, surprised as Hanzo was. Hanzo was further astounded at the fact that his father had  _ physically stepped away from someone _ .

  
It was red. The entire eye was a bright, angry red. The pupil was narrow to a pinpoint, black against the red. Black veins crawled out from his eyelids, but not very far.

  
It was eerie, to say the least.

  
“We have named him Deadeye,” Akande said pleasantly. 

  
“...take him to clean him up,” Sojiro said to his service staff. “Haircut, trim his beard. Make him presentable, and get him a cover for that eye.” Sojiro turned, heading for the back room. Hanzo blinked owlishly before following his father. “Deadeye will join us for dinner. We will learn more of him there.”

  
“Father,” Hanzo hurried a little to catch up. “You like him—“

  
“I do,” Sojiro hummed. “...he kept eye contact with me the entire time, despite his apparent fear of me. And...his eyes are those of a retriever, not a war dog.” Sojiro relaxed. “He is dangerous, frightening, formidable—a suitable suitor to sit at your side. But he...will be kind, I imagine. I hope.”

  
“...” Hanzo glanced over his shoulder, and stopped in his tracks.

  
The staff was leading Deadeye away, but the young man was looking Hanzo. Looking through Hanzo. It was eerie, and it made the Spirits who followed him around squirm.

  
He didn’t move to follow his father again until Deadeye was gone from the sight.

 


	2. Little Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Couple of Trouble Kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here please take this i've re-written it so many times I already have chapter three half done and i just  
> want this posted so i can finish chapter there  
> here you go   
> i am so sorry

Dinner was a few hours out yet. Sojiro was caught in the hallway by one of the service staff, asking if he’d step aside and speak with Mr. Ogundimu privately. Sojiro agreed, and casually waved Hanzo off to do as he liked. It was a blessing in a way; except from chores and training,allowed to just waste the day away and totally absolutely not panic about the potential stranger he may or may not be marrying. Haha.

 

Once Sojiro was out of sight and Hanzo could no longer hear his steps, Hanzo cursed rather vibrantly. He unceremoniously shoved the enormous sleeves of the decorative kimono he wore up his sleeves, and then began digging through his many, many layers to get to his feet.

 

He would not walk all the way to his room in the geta. Dragging fabric be damned, his feet hurt.

 

Once he pushed aside the paper wall to his bedroom, he all but hurled the geta into his closet. Two young omega were waiting for him to fuss, and flurry, and fan at him as they began unwrapping him from his expensive fabric prison. Hanzo let them, finally allowing his shoulders to relax a little.

 

Entirely too long later, Hanzo was free of the ensemble. The staff took the many layers away to be pressed and cleaned and prepared for their next use. Luckily, Hanzo was actually allowed to wear pants to dinner.

 

Thank Fuck.

 

Redressing was significantly easier. A soft shirt, a pair of jeans. Socks on his feet. He reached his hands back, pulled his long white hair up into a messy topknot, and then immediately left his room. He could, even in the hall, already hear Genji in his room not far from him. It sounded like Grand Theft Auto.

 

“How many hookers have you run over?” Hanzo eased the door back to step in. As expected, the room was an absolutely nightmarescape of long lost laundry, old plates, cups on every flat surface. Genji was sitting on the floor in front of a TV, far too close for Hanzo’s comfort, and his thumbs clacked loudly on the controller. 

 

A twizzler was hanging out of his mouth like a limp cigarette.

 

“Twelve,” came the quiet, serene reply from the bed. Zenyatta was curled up on the surprisingly clean bed, sitting in a lotus position with a book in his lap. He lifted a hand to Hanzo as he entered, and patted the comforter beside him. “He is doing a timed trial, I think. He’ll return to us soon.”

 

“Too soon,” Hanzo grumbled as he fell onto the bed. 

 

Zenyatta was...a gift. A strange gift, but a gift. He had been from an exceptionally well to do family from Nepal. They had, eons ago, been tasked with the upkeep of some certain temple that Hanzo didn’t know the name of. At some point they were wanting to hire out of the Shimada’s security detail, Mondatta--the older brother--had brought Zenyatta along as company.

 

Genji had, basically, fallen at first sight. Mondatta thought it was precious. Sojiro was...concerned. The council was furious. But, well. Genji was Genji and it hadn’t taken much for him to spirit Zenyatta away and mark him as a mate before someone could tell him ‘no’. Since then, Zenyatta has lived alongside Hanzo’s crazy little brother. A calm in the storm. The rock, so to speak. And he was pretty, with his dark skin and fluffy dark hair. He had tiny little dark brown ears, and an exceptionally fluffy tail that curled like a cinnabun bun against the small of his back. He’d been the first Hanzo had ever seen to have such a tightly wound little tail.

 

Said tail wiggled a little as the younger man’s attention fell back on Genji. Hanzo followed his gaze, watching his brother lean extremely to the left and started making some sort of growling noise as if to encourage his car on screen to move faster.

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Elegant,” Hanzo snorted. He watched the screen darken and the word WASTED appear before Genji was, quite literally, spinning on his ass to look at his older brother. 

 

“When did you get here? Where’s your dress?”

 

“I gave it back to Walt Disney,” Hanzo snipped. Zenyatta lifted his book to hide his snickering. 

 

“Wait, it’s only like…” Genji glanced at his desk, the clock barely visible, and chewed his twizzler like a piece of wheat. “Like, three.” Those dark eyes met Hanzo’s again before immediately lighting up. “Oh my God. He found someone.”

 

“Genji--”

 

“Dad  _ actually _ liked someone!” Genji butt-scooted himself across the floor to sit directly in front of his brother, practically bouncing. “Holy shit! I didn’t think he’d  _ ever _ find someone he liked! Tell me about them. Boy or girl? Are they grouchie? Do I need to stab a hoe?”

 

“Genji,” Zenyatta admonished. The threat was lost in his laughter though.

 

“Come on,” Genji beamed, slapping Hanzo’s knees hard enough to make the other boy yelp. “Spill!”

 

“I would if you’d take a breath,” Hanzo huffed. “Someone from Talon, a mutt.” Genji’s surprise was evident, and Hanzo barrelled on before he could be bombarded with more questions. “Apparently the two best agents in Talon mated, which produced a mutt. But he’s...frighteningly strong. I don’t know what he can do, but Ogundimu brought him himself. Says he’s gifted like me, I guess? Apparently both of his parents are “gifted” too. Whatever that means.”

 

“Genetic modification?” Zenyatta lowered his book, now interested and serious.

 

“I don’t know,” Hanzo repeated. “He’s tall. A little lighter than you, Zen, but his hair is more chesnut than dark. And it’s long, he needs a cut.” 

 

“Okay,” Genji bounced. “What’s he like?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hanzo admitted. “He’s joining us for dinner. But,” he cut Genji off again. “But, I’m...worried. Afraid? His  _ eyes _ , Genji...there’s something really, really wrong with his eyes. So much so he actually frightened father.”

 

The silence in the room was only broken by the ‘you died’ music trilling from the TV. Genji looked skeptical, while Zenyatta’s face was less direct in it’s emotion. Hanzo shrugged a shoulder and glanced past his brother.

 

“So, good job wrapping your car around a pole.”

 

“He scared father?” The skepticism was clear in his little brother’s voice. Hanzo wanted to roll his eyes hard enough to launch them into orbit but only barely kept himself from doing so.

 

“Enough that Father not only stood down, but backed away from him a step.” They made eye contact again. The twizzler bounced up and down in Genji’s mouth for a moment while the younger man scanned Hanzo’s face for a falsehood. Eventually, he either saw what he needed to or got bored, because he turned away and butt-scooted back to the TV.

 

“You think my driving’s bad? You’re shit at it.”

 

“I’m a excellent driver.”

 

“Not in this game!” Genji waved the controller. “Wanna bet?”

 

“...Fine.” Hanzo stood and went to join his brother, snatching the controller from him before sitting down. “Watch and learn, little brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for all of the support on this so far. i'm actually really blown away?? that so many people like it?? i hope i can live up to your expectations. ;3;


	3. Dinner with the Folks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadeye has a name, and parents, and a really awkward dinner to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE I told you I had this mostly written out.   
> Don't expect updates to come so rapidly, but it just took me so long to get chapter two out that this one was already pretty much done.  
> I kinda like this one. :D

It’s a lot like being back at the complex, only much more invasive and people get grouchy if he tries to help. 

 

Deadeye sits quietly with his eyes closed. Apparently no one in the Shimada staff would “work on him” with them open or without glasses on, and no one had found anything to completely hide his eye. Which in all honesty, he was fine with. He lived a lot of his life with his eyes closed anymore.

 

They wash and cut his hair, though strangely enough they leave it around his ears. Then again, both Master Shimada and the young Master had both had long hair themselves. Maybe it was A Thing here? They scrub his face, trim his facial hair, and hand him a satchel around two hours later.   
  


_ Wear this to dinner _ , says the attendant.  _ We will send a car to retrieve you when we are ready for you. _

 

And then he’s shoved back into a limo. Doomfist chats with him about manners and politeness and quietly threatens pain on him if he fucks this up. A connection like this between Talon and the Shimada Clan would be endlessly beneficial. The fact that the senior Shimada had taken a liking to Jesse was a miracle. 

 

Deadeye isn’t allowed to open his eyes until he’s standing safely back in the hotel room he shares with his parents. He hears the door shut, the locks go in place, and opens his eyes. 

 

\--

 

Talon Records

Subject 0047 - “Deadeye”

Sire: Subject 0024 - “Grim Reaper” - Spanish War Hound PB

Matron: Subject 0031 - “Gaia” - Golden Retriever PB

Siblings: Subject 0077 - “Sombra” 

Gender: Male

Sex: Alpha

Breed: Mixed

Aprox. Height: 6 feet 2 inches (~188 cm)

Aprox. Weight: 200 pounds (~91 kilograms)

Aprox. Age: 27 years 

Inherited Traits: Healing (1.2x normal rate), Strength (1.452x normal rate), Speed (4.5762x Normal Rate)

Unique Traits: Ocular Abnormality - Right. Red iris, no visible pupil. “Active” - center of pupil takes shape of skull-like imagery, intense concentration, faint bioluminescence, single minded focus, nearly impossible to distract when firing projectile weaponry. “Inactive” - Red iris. Capable of pinpointing targeted individual even through obstacles (up to 100 ft, does not include lead lined obstacles). 

Defective Traits: Prolonged “Active” state can cause bleeding in ocular and nasal cavities, extreme migraine, vertigo, disassociation, and unconsciousness. Not recommended to allow “Active” state longer than thirty (30) minutes unless necessary. Should prolonged “Active” state occur, subject is to be tranquilized and contained. Medical treatment suggested. Subject is to remain quarantined until all symptoms of overexposure pass.

 

\--

 

Deadeye had a name. It wasn’t on any sort of official record, he didn’t have a birth certificate or anything like that. He’d been born within a Talon facility, raised within a Talon facility, though he was allowed to be brought up by his parents. Mostly. And they, they had given him his name. And his sister a name, when she came around.

 

They had names too, but they were erased from history. They’d both been people before Talon had gotten their hands on them. His mother was less open about it, a darkness hanging in those baby blue eyes, an old rage that still simmered. His father was a little more open, though he was heavily monitored. All he really knew about his parents were that his mother was from a rural place, and his father came from a coastal city with lots of beaches. 

 

When the hotel door swung shut behind him, the sounds of guards settling in on the other side, both of his parents look up. His mother is at the ensuite desk on the laptop issued to him by their handlers. He looks stressed out, which is about par for the course, but he smiles when Deadeye walks in. His father was lounging on the second of the two queen sized beds in his sweats, half asleep watching some infomercial. 

 

Gaia. Grim Reaper. Talon’s two most efficient, deadliest tools. Conversely, right now? They were Jack and Gabriel, two very affectionate parents whose son just walked in looking like hell warmed over.

 

“Jesse.” 

 

He felt the world lift off his shoulders, felt his posture lax. He leaned back heavily against the door and hugged the bag he’d been given tightly to his chest.  _ His name _ . Jesse - son of Jack and Gabriel, spaghetti western enthusiast, not-a-weapon. Just Jesse.

 

Both of his parents stood and approached, concern and curiosity in equal measure.

 

“Wow. You got a bath.”

 

“Thanks,” Jesse huffed. Gabriel looked amused while Jack took the bag gently from Jesse’s hands. “That’s uh. That’s what I’m supposed to go wearin’ tonight. I got invited to dinner with the Senior Shimada.”

 

“No shit?”   
  


“Gabriel,” Jack mumbled as he turned away to set the bag on Jesse’s bed. He was fussing, his pale ears pressed back so flat into his hair that you could hardly see them. Gabriel patted Jesse’s elbow to coax him away from the door and to sit on the mattress instead. “Shimada approved?”

 

“Yep,” Jesse plopped down heavily. His father fell into the space beside him while Jack began carefully laying out the suit that had been packed. 

 

“Thought he’d shoot down a mutt on sight,” Gabriel admitted. “What changed his mind?”

 

“You,” both men looked at him and Jesse tried to smile. He could see Jack’s heart breaking apart - it was basically his worst nightmare. Jesse’s parents always knew their children would, someday, be whisked away for  _ something _ Talon needed them for. But the idea weighed on them both. Jack was just a little more vocal about it. “Doomfist explained my Sire and Matron and he wanted to see me.”

 

“Did he have you shoot?” Gabriel leaned past Jesse’s shoulder to finger curiously at the blazer on the bed. “Damn, nice jacket.”

 

“Didn’t even shoot. Opened my eyes, the guy nearly screamed in my face.” Jesse snorted. “Scared the hell out of him.”

 

“You do that,” Jack offered. Jesse smacked his arm gently and Jack offered a weak smile. “You cleaned up night though. Surprised they left your hair like it is.”

 

“Eh, they trimmed it.” He lifted a hand to fiddle with it self consciously. “The uh, the younger Shimada had hair down to damn near his waste. White as snow, too.”

 

“I’ve heard about him,” Gabriel admitted. “Okami. Some sort of special spirit wolf.”

 

“Spirit wolf?”

 

“Is that really the weirdest thing we’ve run into?” Gabriel gave Jack a withering look. The younger man huffed, fluffy tail swishing in irritation, before he went to sit back at his desk. “Yeah, go back to your paperwork.”

 

“Shut up, knothead.”

 

“Anyway,” Jesse cut in before his parents could start yet another dick measuring contest. He loved them, but good lord they could harp on each other if left attended. “So I’m going to dinner with a random stranger I may end up being married to for political gain. Any uh. Got any pointers?”

 

“Don’t piss them off?” Gabriel said while Jack offered; “Don’t stab anyone with the chop-sticks.”

 

“Wow,” says Jesse. “I’m so glad you’re so helpful.”

 

“What, did you expect sage advice?”

 

“Yeah. Unless its corn, a cow, or a pulse gun, you think your mother can charm his way through anything?”

 

“Gabriel, I swear to God.”

 

“I’m going to change now,” Jesse sighed and gathered his suit. He could hear his parents starting another one of their fights through the bathroom door, and would likely come out to find his father’s face buried in his mother’s scent gland when he left.

 

Gross.

 

\--

 

“You will refer to the senior Shimada as Shimada-dono,” says his attendant. Jesse nods slowly, wearing a peculiar pair of extremely dark sunglasses. Which was kind of uncomfortable considering it was twilight out, but he could see just fine with his right eye. And apparently he didn’t scare people with these on. “The young master is Shimada-san.”

 

“Ain’t they got first names?”

 

“To you? No.” The young woman looked at him like she’d stepped on someone’s gum on the sidewalk.

 

Around them, the Shimada estate sprawled out into a labyrinth of hallways, chambers, and stairways. It was beautiful in a classical sort of way. It felt old, he could feel the ancient energy here. Could see it, if he coaxed Deadeye to focus. Could see wavering shapes, the remnants of life energies and the distant red figments of currently living people through the walls. 

 

The place was huge. And this wasn’t even the same building he’d been shown off in or bathed in.

 

The attendant continued to speak to him about propriety. He listened as best he could, trying to ignore the way his socks stuck to the mats on the floor. Between that and the strange silence, he felt on edge. Watched. His ears were as forward as they would go, swiveling even at the creak of old door hinges. 

 

After what felt like eons and an entire semester’s worth of history, the attendant stopped. She knocked politely before parting a pair of rice paper doors and stepping inside. She bowed, deep at the waist, and Jesse followed suit. 

 

“Shimada-dono,” she cooed. “I present Talon’s Deadeye to you.”

 

“Thank you, Hanako,” said the elder Shimada. “You may leave us.”

 

Jesse watched the woman dart away on silent feet before turning back to the scene before him. Both men from earlier were kneeling at a low table with a lazy susan like...thing in the middle. The food was on the lazy susan, so that you didn’t have to go reaching over anybody to get to something. The elder Shimada looked just as intimidating as he had before in his dark suit, perhaps more so. The western wear outlined his shoulders and the length of his neck dramatically which gave him a sharper edge. Beside him, the younger Shimada was looking at him with that same quizzical look had had earlier in the day. But he looked more at ease in a western suit, though he lacked the suit jacket his father and Jesse both wore. The angles of the dark blue collared shirt lit up the golden marking on his face, made those sparkling eyes stand out. 

 

He looked a lot more...appealing, when you could actually see him.

 

“Deadeye-sama,” the elder Shimada smiled. “Please, join us. Sit, eat. We have much to discuss.”

 

“...Thank you,” Jesse ducked into another bow, and the younger Shimada’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile. Jesse was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see what that smile would look like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you again, so much, for your kindness and support on this project. I'm humbled. ;3;


	4. Cold Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8D

Dinner was meant to be a formal affair. It was meant as...an interview, of sorts. Yes, Sojiro had taken a brief time this morning to look the boy over. But it had only been cursory. His physician, who had looked at Jesse during his “cleansing” earlier in the day, said he was extremely fit, if a little on the thin side. Tonight was meant to be more...in-depth. Talk to the boy, learn about his training, perhaps after their meal go out and he could show them just how precise this Deadeye shot could be.

 

Most all of that had gone almost immediately out the window. Sojiro realized his son and this Talon boy had more in common than he’d like to think. Age, being raised in a bubble as ‘other’ from society, their training, the...business their families were in.

 

He also didn’t account for the poor thing having exactly zero skills with chopsticks. 

 

The young man had sat down, joined them at the table. He knelt politely, and greeted them in stilted buy somewhat accurate Japanese. And then they began serving themselves. Both Sojiro and Hanzo had filled their plates, relatively, and were eating before they realized the young agent hadn’t moved. He’d spoken--let them know his parents were Codenames Gaia and Grim Reaper, that he had a sibling coded Sombra. He was twenty six, a year younger than Hanzo.

 

“Does our meal displease you?” Sojiro asked casually between one breath and the next. Hanzo glanced up at him quizically before looking at their guest. The poor child, Deadeye floundered for a moment in a desperate attempt not to offend. 

 

“I uh, uh. N-no, no, Shimada-dono. I just, I um.” Elequent. Hanzo snorted a little, which seemed to put a set to the boy’s brow. He picked up the chopsticks and when to add some fish to his plate, only for it to slip and land on the table with a splat.

 

Sojiro and Hanzo both stared at the fish for a moment. Then at Deadeye, who tried to pick it up twice, with the chopsticks, before he just. Stabbed it with one stick and plopped it on his plate.

 

It took every ounce of Sojiro’s willpower not to crack a smile at how  _ red _ the young man got. Hanzo was no so lucky, barking out a laugh at the display. Sojiro watched his son, watched those fluffy white ears perk forward rather than lay back nervously. He could hear the swish-swish of his son’s bushy wagging against the rug.

 

“I’m sorry, I-I’m not too good at--”

 

“Here,” Hanzo said instead of letting him continue. He laid his own chopsticks down and moved a little, sitting beside the agent to help him mold his hand around the sticks. Sojiro continued his own meal, watching Hanzo happily--albeit slowly--help their guest work through getting some of the dishes onto his plate. Since the young man was given his own rice dish, Hanzo helped him carefully maneuver the sticks to gather bits of rice, bits of meat, etc.

 

The look Deadeye gave his son, an open, unadulterated look of complete embarrassed gratitude, sold Sojiro in that moment. The red cheeks, the tiny, timid smile. The way his ears were flat back but his tail was starting to wag, too, bumping into Hanzo’s white fluffy one as they talked. He didn’t interrupt.

 

Dinner from there was lead by Hanzo, though Sojiro doubted his son noticed. Eventually, once the guest had a somewhat decent understanding of his utensils (Sojiro politely ignored the fact they had forks and hadn’t offered one), Hanzo was asking questions. Not necessarily the ones Sojiro would have, but...important ones.

 

Important questions of another nature than business.

 

“Well,” Deadeye offered between bites. “I can shoot anything. If I have to shoot or throw it, I can. But uh, my speciality is long range rifle work, or close combat pistols and shotguns. Guns in general really, somethin’ visceral about them.”

 

“I prefer the bow,” Hanzo offered as he dabbed at his mouth. “I have studied the blade as well, but my brother’s skill at it far surpasses my own. The bow, however, is a passion of mine.”

 

“No kiddin?” Deadeye seemed to light up. Hanzo nodded. He hadn’t stopped smiling all evening. “We oughta go shooting sometime.”

 

“That is hopefully within the cards,” Hanzo agrees. “I would love to see your skill.”

 

“And I yours.” At that, Hanzo turned a little pink himself. There was a lull in the conversation after that, where they ate quietly. Sojiro stepped back in then, asking about business once more. The gentile, almost jovial lilt to Deadeye’s voice evaporated. Instead it was replaced with that same clinical coolness from his first arriving. Even behind those sunglasses, Sojiro knew the boy and he never once made eye contact.

 

That was fine. He and Hanzo had shared many looks, eye to eye, which was more important.

 

\--

 

Dinner had been exceptional. The food was good, Deadeye was surprisingly entertaining, and the two younger men may have had one too many sips of sake before being lead out to the private indoor range. Training bots buzzed around, meandering aimlessly along the range. Deadeye had been given a compound bow much like Hanzo’s, one he recognized as Genji’s old bow. 

 

“Are you ready to lose, Deadeye?”

 

“Oh-ho, it’s on, Shimada-san.” Deadeye stepped up to another cubicle. Hanzo laughed at the confidence and took up a stance on his own. “What’s first? Speed or accuracy?”

 

“Speed,” Sojiro said from behind them. Hanzo almost jumped--he’d forgotten that his father was there as well as a handful of guards to chaperone their little shoot-off. “First to ten hits.”

 

“Yes sir, Shimada-dono.” Deadeye nodded at him before settling into a rather wide stance. Hanzo’s own wasn’t exactly narrow, but he could tell that bows were not high on the practice list for his competitor. 

 

Hanzo made it to ten first. Deadeye right on his heels with eight. 

 

They tied in the accuracy range. 

 

“Hanzo,” Sojiro said gently. “Come stand by me.”

 

“Father--”

 

“Please.” Sojiro motioned. Hanzo nodded and bowed gently to his competitor and moved to stand beside his father. Their guest looked almost nervous, left at the shooting block alone. Sojiro adjusted his sleeves, looking uneasy. “Deadeye, your talents are commendable.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“I would, however, like to see your skill.”

 

“...Sir?”

 

“The Deadeye, your namesake,” Sojiro elaborated. “Remove your glasses, if you would. I would like to see this skill in action.” 

 

There was a hush among those in attendance. Hanzo was curious, clearly, by the way his ears wiggled forward and swivelled now and again. For his part, however, the young Deadeye looked almost uneasy.

 

Almost afraid.

 

“It’s a might bit dangerous in enclosed spaces, Shimada-dono.” The young man fidgeted uneasily. “If anyone’s in the line’a sight--”

 

“We’ll stand behind you, here.” Sojiro motioned at his feet. “Please,” he smiled a little, a little sharper. He felt content when the young man’s ears laid back into his dark hair submissively. Eventually, he figured it wasn’t so much a request as a demand, and the boy returned to his cubicle. 

 

“I’ll load six shots,” the boy explained, doing just that. “Only six. I know you all got cameras in here and they’ll pick up the visuals. It’s a small bit of a light show sometimes.” He sighed, a deep, slow thing before settling his feet. Grounded, good stance. He picked up the gun.

 

Moment of truth. Sojiro was again pleased; he didn’t turn on them.

 

Everyone in the range knew when the glasses came off. It was like they hid the eye from the world, rather than the world from the eye. The temperature dropped significantly. The cubicle around the agent almost glowed a dull red. But that glow spread out, grew brighter. Like an aura, like a  _ spirit _ . It encompassed the young man in his entirety. Bright red, oranges, and white right along the young man’s skin. Like a fire burning despite the cold room.

 

The young man’s hands came up, steady and sure. For how hesitant and shy he’d been all night, Sojiro finally saw the  _ weapon _ Talon had created. In that moment, as Deadeye lifted his gun towards the training bots weaving around down the range, Sojiro felt it again. The bright, bitter taste of fear. This boy, this  _ man _ , is dangerous. Would be even more so, older, the longer he hones this strange gift he was given. 

 

_ “Draw _ ,” the word feels more like an action than a sound. It resonants through the room, through the people. All the hair on Sojiro’s neck stands up straight, and he feels his body tense. Fight or Flight. That one word had everyone on edge, like they were facing down the barrel of the man’s gun rather than watching his back.

 

The shots rang out so quickly it sounded like a single bark from the gun. Sojiro, Hanzo, the guards all watched as almost simultaneously six bots went down. No, were obliterated. The shots to the chassis hid the main energy core, blasting it wide open, shrapnel explain in every direction like a macabre snow. 

 

In the silence that followed, the aura around the young man began to dissipate. It shrunk and shrunk and faded until it was merely a faint glow. And then Deadeye was returning his glasses to his face. The room warmed up. The glow died out. And his audience was speechless. Nervously, the agent turned around empty-handed to look at them. He looked sheepish.

 

“That was incredible,” Hanzo breathed. The first to speak. “That was stunning.”

 

“Thank ye,” Deadeye’s hand went to tug on apparently a hat, but he wasn’t wearing one, so he settled for fussing at his hair nervously instead. “Kind of you to say.”

 

“Truly,” Sojiro added when he found his voice again. “An exception gift.”

 

“Too kind,” Deadeye muttered, eyes dropping away. 

 

\--

 

“I can tell you’re already smitten,” Sojiro offered to his son. Hanzo looked away from his father, tail brushing the floor nervously. “You like that young man.”

 

“He’s kind. And capable,” Hanzo agreed.

 

“I hardly got a word in all night. I don’t think I’ve ever see you speak so much to a stranger.” Hanzo is silent under his father’s scrutiny, cheeks turning a pale pink.

 

“I’m sorry, father. You meant to interview him--”

 

“I learned what I needed,” Sojiro interrupted him. Hanzo looked up abruptly, shocked. “There are postures and circumstance we must assure are met, but I like this boy. We will need to train that shyness out of him, but I think a life outside of a walled facility may aid in urging him out of his shell.”

 

“You--” Hanzo blinked. “You  _ approve _ ?”

 

“I’ll make arrangements with Mr. Ogundimu in the morning. Deadeye will be relocated to staying with us, so that his family and the Talon agents accompanying him may be returned home.” Sojiro rested a hand gently on Hanzo’s shoulder, squeezing briefly. “If,” he tacked on. “  _ If _ , you would like it to be made so.”

 

Hanzo was silent as death for a moment, golden eyes bright and wide in some form of awe.

 

“Yes,” he says quietly, barely a whisper. More of a breath. “Yes, father. Please.” Sojiro smiled at that and leaned closer to press a soft kiss to his eldest son’s forehead.

 

“It will be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still don't use a beta  
> i never have  
> i'm not that patient  
> sorry my dudes  
> HOPE YOU LIKE


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